


outlaws, inlaws crooks and straights all out making it shake.

by deaf_kryptonian



Category: Smallville, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deaf_kryptonian/pseuds/deaf_kryptonian
Summary: It's where all the cowboy folk go to boot scootin' boogie.





	outlaws, inlaws crooks and straights all out making it shake.

“This sounds like a dirge.” Lex stared at the shimmering cowboy boot disco ball above and sighed. Clark was next to him, smirking like a cat in the cream. A dozen pairs of various styles and ages of cowboy boots, broken up by Clark's treaded work boots and Lex's too-shiny patent leathers.

The music might have well have been a dirge for Lex's last shred of self-respect. Line dancing-- if only Lionel could see him now. 

Clark just shook his head in response, laughing. The music became much more classically country, some stringed thing that Lex couldn't place. “We just stand here?” Lex asked, feeling a little awkward at the anticipation everyone else in line was feeling. Clark nodded, thumbs in his belt buckle like everyone else. Lex, lacking a dinner-plate of his own, decided to just keep his hands at his sides and preserve a little of his dignity.

“Alright, now.” All at once, a loud snap of boots on wood as everyone started the dance. Lex got hold of the clapping first, then stared at Clark in bewilderment. “Here, like this.” Clark heeled his boots a few times, then crossed one heel over the other ankle and back. Another loud snap as everyone rocked on their feet and turned clockwise.

Across the way, a grey-haired old cowboy-grandpa type was teaching his granddaughter to two-step while a teenaged redneck was _trying_ to teach a very patient date how to enjoy such a strange little ritual as a group dance. A young man walked up to an adult who was struggling but trying his best, and broke down the steps for him. There wasn't some hierarchy here, everyone was learning from everyone regardless of age or status.

It brought to mind that scene on the Titanic: the rich swirling away in fancy dress and couple dances. Isolated and restrained, stiff and memorized. The poor below deck were hooting and hollering and dancing as a whole unit. But despite the division, Lex still didn't feel as if he didn't fit in here. Sure, there were odd looks and some laughing at his expense, but just the same there were faceless strangers in the smoky bar cheering him on by name. No doubt some factory workers excited to see their boss try to dance.

The singing started, barely audible from the worn speakers. Lex commented, and Clark smirked, started singing it for him in a gravely, dramatic fashion. (Clark was many things: a country singer was not one of them)

“Ya hardly ever saw granddaddy down here. They only come to town 'bout twice a year. Buy a hundred pounds of yeast and some copper line. Everybody knew that he made moonshine.”

Of course the song was about moonshine.

“Now the revenue man wanted Grandaddy bad, he headed up the holler with everything he had. 'fore my time but I've been told: _he never come back from Copperhead Road!_ " The last verse was drowned out by everyone else in the room shouting out the bridge in various drunken slurs and cheers.

That classically Southern twang that Clark would get when he was excited about something. It certainty didn't improve his singing, but it made it more fun to listen to, to hear Clark let loose. Clark's body relaxed into the rhythm as well. Lean and long, leaned back as he danced. He was practically flinging his whole body into the stomps and clicks of his boots. This, more than the city or some remnants of Krypton, was his community and home.

The second verse began-- a whole group stomping and clapping. It was nothing like learning to dance in formal classes with barres and self-critical reflections everywhere. There were no old women with tired faces and papery hands lecturing him to straighten his spine. Here, things were taught free of charge and mistakes were part of the fun. (It helped that pretty much everyone was drunk) The form wasn't nearly as important as the flow, moving in sync and letting go.

Then mid verse the song cut out for a moment leaving only a loud chorus of boots and: _“FUCK THE ARMY! FUCK THE ARMY!”_

_They draft the white trash first 'round here anyway._ The song started up again.

The whole bar had just erupted in a small anarchist rally for a few seconds and Lex blinked in shock as Clark joined in too. He laughed, not breaking the dance as he explained. “Moonshiners were told to join the army or else go to jail.”

The dance continued.

Less a ritual, more a celebration. Clark whooped as Lex finally got the rhythm down and a few others in line clapped for him-- embarrassing as it was strangely encouraging, to get encouragement from strangers. He felt himself loosen up a bit more. Fall into Clark's world some more.

The song picked up speed, the whole unit stomping their feet. Lex was out of breath, not from exhaustion but from wearing himself out laughing and whooping with the rest. Clark was watching him, smile bright in the dim dive bar. Lex followed suit, smiling and clapping in time. Here he wasn't Lex Luthor. He was just some newcomer learning to line dance. (and doing a damn good job of it, by his own limited account)

The music was a little trancelike, the steady rhythm and the sync of boots stomping. It was this strange sense of unity and isolation all at once. Lost in the sway with everyone else, but contributing to the general mood. As the song picked up, a few who were lingering on the edges of the dance floor finally made their way onto the floor and the line spread a bit to make room for them.

A very drunk man attempted to freestyle during an instrumental and tripped. A few others ran to help him, just as the song ended. There was laughter and some boots tapping even as the strange dirge-like sound died down.

And then it was over, the crowd dispersing and chatting as a non-line dancing song played, something about watermelon that Clark was half moving his feet to as he spoke with Lex. They leaned against the banister at the edge of the dance floor, taking a break as the song played.

“Not so bad, was it?”

“I heard a few familiar voices cheering me on. No doubt my reputation as a CEO is in the tank.”

“It's not every day you get to see your boss boot-scoot.” Clark laughed and shouldered Lex. Lex shoved back gently.

“Boot scoot?” Lex asked, and Clark scuffed his boots on the floor to illustrate.

An elderly man dropped to his knees and started crawling on the floor and Lex looked on in horror while Clark sighed in a mix of humor and embarrassment. “That's Dan, he gets really into it. Song's called Watermelon Crawl-- that's, well, the watermelon crawl.” Lex looked more horrified and Clark held up his hands. “We don't expect you to do anything like that. Hell, I don't. It's just something Dan does. He goes to contests in other parts of Kansas and stuff. Taught me when I was a kid. He gets real into it.”

“Hard to believe the Kents letting you out of their sight as a kid. Much less dancing.”

Clark sipped his drink, watching Dan apparently do his damndest to get stepped on. “Learning how to dance was a great way to control my strength, and if I stepped through the floor a few times it was just 'cause it was old rotten boards.”

“Did you?” Lex raised a brow.

“Step through the floor? Yeah.” He pointed to a patch of old but still visibly newer wood. “Good thing about small towns, I guess. No one asks too many questions unless you’re an outsider.” Lex raised his glass in a small salute to that.

“Unless you're an outsider, then they never trust you.”

Clark bit his cheek. “Small town folk, especially in the country, have always gotten the shit end of the stick from anyone from the big city. It's a little community, then the army or some man trying to mine the land for oil or manure.” He pressed his lips together. “I know you're different, but we've been hurt so many times. It's just hard for everyone.”

“Like your father.”

“Yeah, like Pa.” The song must have been coming to a close, because Clark set his empty glass back down on the table on the other side of the banister. He held out his hand for Lex, inviting him to join in the next song. “Dunno what the next song is, but you up for another round if it’s not too tricky?”

“It was hardly that complicated.” He regretted it just as he spoke, because a twanging guitar and too-nasally voice started up and, ah, this song he did know even without the lyrics audible. “Cotton Eyed Joe, really?”

“It's a valid country song, Lex.” Clark laughed and pulled Lex into the middle of the dance floor where others were forming a series of three clusters. Clark took his hands. “Ok, there’s actually a few different versions but I’ll teach you the one that’s easier.”

“If a bunch of country bumpkins can learn it, I'm sure it can't be that hard.” Lex laughed, then frowned as Clark sighed. Too far with the jokes, okay. “I'm sorry.” He squeezed Clark's shoulder.

“These people are just trying their best, Lex. You know that, you employ a lot of them. The schools round here might suck, but that ain't their fault. Going back to that whole thing with big cities screwing us over. Who do you think draws up the lines and funds the schools in richer areas?” That twang got a bit heavier. “We aren't that stupid, Lex.” The _we_ was deliberate, a reminder that for as Metropolis as Clark was, his roots and his family were still heartland small town.

“Yeah, I get it.” Lex frowed a bit at the reminder, of how much of an outsider he was and how much of small town life he still didn’t understand. The history he just didn’t get and probably wouldn’t.

There were three very different variations of dance going on-- apparently Cotton Eyed Joe had a lot of variations to it. “This looks complicated.” He shrugged and admitted his earlier mistake.

“Cotton Eyed Joe's really popular, there's a lot of variations.” Clarks' smile was back and he linked arms with Lex, showing him how to do the version he'd learned as a kid: three people in a line, dancing back and forth with a series of small hops. The stranger next to Clark passed off his cowboy hat, and Clark smirked and plopped it on Lex's head. A few cheers from some dark corner of the bar where no doubt those same employees were enjoying the sight of the infamously bald Luthor in a white straw Stetson.

**Author's Note:**

> Continuity is a fuck. All the stuff in the bar is based on things that actually happened to me in various cowboy bars growing up. I just moved out to the PNW and I haven't had a chance to find a good line dancing bar so I'm feeling homesick, which led to this cute little scene. (please feel free to remix or rework this if you wanna play with the concept lol!)
> 
> check me out on tumblr: kalcl.tumblr.com


End file.
